


Pieshly Frustrated

by soncnica



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Case, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Lucifer's Cage Sam Winchester, Season/Series 07, Short One Shot, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24107317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soncnica/pseuds/soncnica
Summary: Dean and how he can never finish his pies.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Pieshly Frustrated

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and I'm sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes you might find.  
> Story 1st written -> Oct. 30th, 2011

Sam nudged the light motel door open with his foot, his hands occupied with heavy white plastic bags of stuff his brother asked for… mainly beer and Whiskey and some candy to help soak up all that liquid. Or so Sam told himself. It was just easier that way.

The thin screech the door made when it slid back closed made Sam look around himself to see if a Banshee was after his ass, but there was nothing, just door closing shut.

The noise was like a sharp knife piercing Sam's skull; the headache he'd had since he woke up was getting worse and worse by the minute and if this would go on, he was afraid his brain would leak out through his ears. He needed sleep and he needed food, but both of those things were hard to come by these days; it was all hunt after a hunt and Lucifer never shutting up inside of his melon.

He turned around, hitting the bags on his legs, felt a bottle of whiskey hit the other one and prayed that nothing would break. Dean would give him hell for that and he didn't need that… he had hell in his grapefruit all the time, twenty-four seven, playing Lucifer tunes with no stop button.

He sighed. At least he was alive… in a way.

In two long strides he was at the table where Dean was sitting, putting the bags slowly and carefully on the wooden table, the legs of which, he thought, would crumble into pieces of moldy wood if he'd put any more weight on it.

Some places they stayed in…

Dean had the laptop in front of him, the blue light from the screen shining on his face, making his skin even paler than it already was. There were papers scattered all over the place; table, chairs, floor. There was a plate of fresh - or so the nice lady told them – apple pie before him and a fork in his hand, but Dean was just… sitting there.

Sam cleared his throat: "Found anything?"

He started to pull bottles and cans out of the bags, pushing away some medical reports and pictures of chests ripped open, guts spilling out to the floor, faces so mangled they weren't faces anymore. Yeah that would totally... not make him eat for another day or so.

"No..." his brother sighed and pushed some more pie around the plate with his fork, making small crumbs fall down on a police report that was already stained with grease… those burgers were actually quite good, if you ignored all that grease flowing out of them.

Sam huffed and sat down on a small chair next to his brother, pushed his legs beneath the table, careful not to touch the thing in any way and smiled: "Pie ain't good? The lady said it was fresh out of the oven, home apples and all."

He had seen Dean be... out of it for a while now, not so eager to jump at the mention of something needing to be killed, but pushing pie around the plate like this, loosing crumbs... it was worrisome.

Dean looked up from the plate, but not at Sam, no, his eyes went straight towards the fresh bottles of hunter's helper. He licked his lips, almost tasting the sharp burn of the whiskey flowing down his throat.

"What?"

"Never seen you butcher pie like that before, man."

Dean sighed and pushed the fork around the plate some more, picking up a piece of the pie and letting it fall down to the plate.

"Dean?"

The worry in that one word could've been cut with a knife.

Dean grumbled out and flicked a small crumb with his fingers: "'m pieshly frustrated, man, 's what's wrong with me."

The crumb landed in Sam's lap.

He looked down to flick it away and then back up at Dean, nodding with his tongue in his cheek.

He would not laugh. He would not, but his eyebrows still crawled up into his hair and he managed to suck in so much air to say: "Mmmm, yeah okay. You... yeah, okay, so... you won't," he reached out quickly in fear of being stabbed with the fork and snagged a butchered piece of pie from his brother's plate: "eat that pie, then, huh?"

By the time Dean managed to look up, Sam was already munching on the pie.

Dean threw the fork down on the plate: "I give up."

Sam really, really didn't laugh at that.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
